The Letter
by AllisonMadness
Summary: Eight-year-old Harry finds a letter. One shot, no warnings.


_A/N: Thanks to my beta's_: _Crescent and Badgerlady. As always, I couldn't do this without them._

_This is a one-shot. I may write a sequel eventually, but I don't know.  
_

_Disclaimer: I own nothing, JKR owns it all._**  
**

**The Letter**

There was an envelope lying on the grass, right at the edge where the property line divided number Four Privet Drive from the neighbors on the left.

At half-seven, ten minutes after Uncle Vernon had left for work, when eight-year-old Harry Potter was pushed out the door by his scowling aunt to take care of the lawn and the flower beds underneath the front windows, it was the first thing he saw. The bright cream color of the envelope contrasted sharply with the dark green of the grass. He stared at it in confusion, then turned to look back at the house. After carefully watching the house for several minutes to be sure that no one would be coming out the door, or was watching him from the windows, he walked slowly over to where the envelope lay. It was aligned perfectly with the edge of the property, as if someone had laid it down with extreme care. Harry didn't bend down and pick it up, he just stared wide-eyed at the thick parchment envelope that had his name written out on the back in a swirly, elegant type of writing that was usually favoured only by girls who loved pink and purple and wore dresses every day.

_Harry Potter_

Harry raised his head to look up and down the street. It was as empty as it normally was on an early Thursday morning in late July, after the fathers had left for work and none of the children were out to play yet. A few autos were parked along the street and one house a few doors down had its garage door open. Only the distant barking of two dogs broke the silence of the hazy morning.

Cautiously, Harry bent over and picked up the envelope. It was quite heavy and padded, making him think that there was a lot of pages inside. Who would have written to him? He didn't have any friends, and none of the children at primary school would have written on anything other than notebook paper. He turned the envelope over and over in his hands, not sure what he was looking for. Something maybe to tell him who had written his name so elegantly on the back? A clue as to who knew that he lived here, but didn't want to use the regular post? There was a large blob of wax sealing the flap and someone had pressed something into it. The impression in the wax was circular and had a small picture of an animal with wings that Harry didn't recognize. Around the edge of the circle was tiny writing in what looked like a different language.

After some contemplation of the seal and the writing of his name on the back, he slipped the envelope into the back pocket of his overly large shorts and pulled down the hem of the huge t-shirt he wore, making sure that the envelope could not be seen. Then he pulled out the lawn mower to begin his morning chores.

The weight of the letter in Harry's pocket distracted him as he struggled with the heavy lawn mower that was almost taller than he was and difficult to push. He tripped a couple of times and knew that he had to pay attention to what he was doing. He needed to stop thinking about the envelope, and who might have sent it. He adjusted his grip on the mower and began again.

After a while, he felt sweat caused by exertion and the early morning sun start to drip down his back and he worried that the letter would get wet and be ruined. Mild panic set in as he stopped mowing and hastily rubbed the ragged knit of his t-shirt against his back to get rid of the sweat. The panic subsided and he grappled with the mower to turn it around and start another row.

A short time later, Dudley flung the front door open and raced off down the street with hardly a glance at Harry. Thankful that Dudley had left without hitting him or insulting him, he stopped the mower and left it sitting in the middle of the lawn as he walked up to the house. Opening the front door, he stuck his head inside and listened for a minute. He could hear the sound of voices and dramatic music coming from the telly in the sitting room, which meant that Aunt Petunia had started on her daily stories and would not be paying attention for a while.

Quietly, Harry slipped off his shoes and socks, checking to make sure that there was no grass or dirt on the bottom of his feet. He hurried over to the cupboard and eased open the door just enough to slip the letter under his thin mattress on the floor. Then he closed the door just as carefully, making sure to turn the handle so that the latch didn't click when it settled into place.

A sudden thought stopped him as he turned to go back outside, and he slid noiselessly over to the kitchen door. Dudley's plate sat abandoned on the table, and before Harry could change his mind or lose his courage, he ducked into the kitchen. Half bent over, he hurried over to Dudley's plate and swiped the cold piece of toast and half a banana that by some miracle had not been eaten. Harry hid them under his shirt as he headed back into the early morning sun. Before he slid into his shoes and socks again, he gulped down the toast and banana and then turned the garden hose on. Once the water had cooled down, he took a drink to quiet the hungry noises that were still sounding in his stomach and then held the hose over his head.

After he was drenched, with rivulets of water running down his hair and into the back of his shorts, he turned off the hose, put on his shoes and socks and went back to the lawn. With his hunger slightly abated and the coolness of the hose water keeping his mind off of the sun, his head wandered back to the strange envelope now safely hidden in his cupboard. As he started the mower again, his imagination ran the tips of his fingers mentally over the edge of the paper, feeling the crease as he looked at his name. He thought about the way the 'H' swooped and the 'y' had a little swirl at the end. The capital 'P' had been larger than the rest of the writing, as if trying to show that it was most important and the two 't's' had been huddled together, crossed with a single line. He imagined working one of his ragged fingernails underneath the flap of the envelope and prying it open to reveal its secrets.

The day passed with agonizing slowness. He stopped after he had finished the mowing and again between weeding one flower bed and the next to get a drink of water and hold the hose over his head, hoping to stave off the lightheadedness that always started just before Aunt Petunia would call him in to fix dinner. It never worked, but at least it would cool him off and give his stomach the illusion of temporary fullness.

~~hp~~hp~~hp~~

Harry listened to Aunt Petunia, Uncle Vernon and Dudley eating dinner from inside his cupboard. He longed to pull out the letter and read it now, but he knew that he would be called to clean up the dishes soon and he didn't want to be caught with it. Harry knew that if Uncle Vernon found out that he had a letter it would be taken away immediately.

The call of "Boy!" from Uncle Vernon had him crawling out of the cupboard to clean off the table. After making sure that the family was safely away from the dining table and paying no attention to him, he managed to eat what little remained on Aunt Petunia's and Dudley's plates, along with a piece of bread from the bread basket in the center of the table. As usual, there was nothing left on Uncle Vernon's plate.

He stacked the dishes in the sink to soak, picked up the glasses and drank the inch of milk left in Dudley's glass, then placed those in the sink. He scrubbed the table, washed the dishes, wiped the counters, emptied the trash and swept the floor.

"I'm finished, Aunt Petunia," he said from the doorway to the sitting room.

"I'll check it later, boy," Aunt Petunia said abruptly. "Go away."

With a sense of relief, Harry went back to his cupboard and waited.

Eventually, the sound of the telly stopped. Dudley pounded his way up the stairs and the door to his bedroom slammed. Soon after, he heard Uncle Vernon's heavy tread on the stairs. He pushed the door open and went to stand at the edge of the kitchen while Aunt Petunia did her nightly inspection. Ten minutes later she pushed passed him without a word, which only meant that she could find nothing wrong. He waited until she had disappeared into her bedroom before going back to his cupboard.

Harry sat in the dark, his hands trembling with _want_. When he heard Uncle Vernon's snoring begin to rattle down the stairs, he cautiously snuck out to the kitchen, pulled open the drawer that housed the emergency supplies and took a tiny flashlight from the very back. If Aunt Petunia checked the drawer, there was a small chance that she wouldn't notice that it was missing, since there were three others just like it in the drawer. Harry knew it was a fool's hope because Aunt Petunia knew _everything_. She had the kitchen inventoried down to the last breadcrumb. He wavered with indecision for a minute, then clutched the little flashlight to his chest. This was too important to give up now.

He pulled the door to his cupboard shut behind him, then turned on the flashlight and set it on the shelf that was shoulder height to Harry while he was sitting. He took off his shirt and shorts and pulled on the t-shirt that he normally wore to sleep in, placing the filthy clothes along the back wall to be washed when he did everyone else's laundry on Monday.

Finally, with the sound of Uncle Vernon's snores calming his nerves and assuring Harry that he _probably_ wouldn't be caught, he reached under his mattress for the envelope. There was a moment of terror when he couldn't seem to find it, but the fear settled when his fingers found the envelope pushed farther under the mattress than he had expected.

He held it up to the dim light of the flashlight. It was just how he remembered it and _his name_ was still written across the back. He had been afraid that he would pull it out from underneath the mattress, and it would read someone else's name. Then he would know that he had made a mistake, that the sun, hope, and hunger had made him dream that it was his name written across the envelope with such girly flair. Slowly, he traced the loops and swirls that made up the spelling of his name with the tip of his finger. There was a feeling of _change_ tingling up his spine. Something was happening to him and it was all because of this envelope with his name written on it.

He slipped a finger under the wax seal and watched in fascination as it crackled and then broke. The flap sprang loose with a bit of the wax still clinging to it. He pulled out what was inside and unfolded the heavy parchment. There were three sheets: two filled with writing and one that was blank. He looked at the blank sheet for a while, trying to figure out if there was some reason _why_ the sender would have included it, but he eventually set it aside to think about later.

_27 July 1989_

_Dear Mister Potter,_

Harry stopped, his forehead wrinkled in thought. No one had ever called him _Mister_ before and it felt strange as he repeated it in his head, his lips silently forming the words. _Mister Potter. Mister Potter._ Wasn't that what adults were called by children? Who called a child _Mister_? Since Harry was mostly called "Freak" or "Boy," he decided that it was another mystery that he wasn't going to figure out right away, and went back to the letter.

_Dear Mister Potter,_

_You do not know my family or me. I have only just found out about you and your living conditions and it is my understanding that you were left with your relatives as a baby and that they did not want you, then or now._

_You may not remember, but two months ago, you were in Muggle London with your aunt._

Harry stared at the word Muggle. It was a struggle to read the flowing script and he had to sound out some of the words, but this word made no sense. Was it 'Mug-gle' or 'Moo-gle'? What did it mean? With a mental shrug, he skipped over the word as unimportant and continued.

_I saw you sitting on a bench outside the beauty salon and I sat down next to you. We spoke for a few minutes and you pointed your aunt out to me. I realised after a few minutes that I knew who you were and was shocked at what your aunt said to you when she came to the door of the shop._

Harry remembered that moment. A beautiful blonde-haired woman with a boy about Harry's age had sat down on the bench. The boy had the most extraordinary hair, fine and white blond, floating gently around his shoulders every time he moved. He had also been quiet and respectful, saying "Yes, Mother," and "No, Mother," but Harry could tell that he was happy. His mother had talked gently to him, even stroking her hand down his hair once or twice, while the boy had nattered on and on about things Harry didn't understand. Harry's gut had twisted with jealousy. Why couldn't someone love _him_ like that?

After a few minutes, the woman had turned to Harry. "Are you waiting for someone?"

Harry had nodded shyly, his eyes downcast. "Yes, my aunt is getting her hair done." Harry twisted around on the bench to look in the window. Aunt Petunia sat in the stylist's chair, her hair tied up in bits of aluminum and dripping with a paste that would turn her hair different colors. She had on the fake smile that she wore for people that she thought should like her, but that she didn't necessarily respect. "There she is," Harry said as he pointed.

"Oh, my," the woman had said. "It looks like she's going to be a while. Would you like to go over to the park with my son and play?" The woman had pointed to the tiny park on the other side of the street. It had been set up by the owners of the local shops to keep the children of clientele busy and out of the stores. Harry noticed that the blonde woman's fingers were long, her nails were neatly trimmed and polished a light pink.

"I'm not allowed to leave the bench," Harry had said as he turned back around. A bead of sweat started to drip down his face and he wiped it away as he lifted his fringe with the other hand. A sharp intake of breath had him swiveling his head toward the woman. Her eyes were wide and her mouth was hanging open.

"Is something wrong?" Harry had asked hesitantly and she snapped her mouth closed.

"No," she had said, her voice cracking a bit. Harry looked over at her son, but the boy's eyes were turned towards a man on a bicycle, watching him pedal up the street.

Harry's attention had been suddenly dragged back to the shop as the front door banged open and Aunt Petunia stood at the doorway. "What did I tell you about talking to people, boy?"

Harry had immediately stood in front of her, his back ramrod straight. "Sorry, Aunt Petunia." He offered no explanations or excuses, it was going to be all Harry's fault no matter what he said.

"My apologies," the blonde woman had said, rising from the bench. "I was resting for a moment and your nephew was kind enough to let me speak to him."

Aunt Petunia had obviously not known what to do with that information, so she nodded at the woman, but she and her son were already walking away.

"You little freak!" Aunt Petunia had said in a harsh whisper. "Don't you go around talking to normal people! What if they find out that we're stuck with you, they'll start thinking that we're freaks too!" With that statement, Aunt Petunia had gone back to the stylist's chair, the simpering little smile back on her face. It was then that Harry remembered why no one would love him.

_I also heard what your aunt said to you after I walked away and was horrified. Over the next several weeks, I worked to find out where you live. It has not been easy, as the people who know where you are will never talk to me. After I found you, I spent some time listening to the things that your aunt and uncle say to you. For people who wish to keep you a secret, they are remarkably stupid._

Harry snorted at this statement, then clapped his hand over his mouth, eyes darting around the dark corners of his cupboard as if Uncle Vernon was just waiting in the shadows, waiting for him to do something to be punished over.

_You do not deserve to be saddled with such unkind and heartless people; therefore, I wish to help you choose to alter your living arrangements._

She wanted to…what? Harry didn't understand that sentence. _Alter his living arrangements_. What did that mean? Did it mean that she was going to make his relatives give him a regular meal, maybe even every day? Or a bedroom of his own? Dudley's second bedroom was small, perhaps he could use that one. Maybe…Harry shook his head to remove that thought. No. No one was going to come to rescue him and take him to a home where he would be loved and wanted. He'd given up that fantasy when he was six, about the time he'd learned not to cry, that crying only made the punishments worse.

He read the sentence again.

_I wish to help you choose to alter your living arrangements._

What did it mean by 'choose'? He had no choices about anything in his life and his relatives certainly weren't going to start now.

_In order to help you make the best decision, you need information. I would not have you making a choice that is as bad as, or worse than the choices of the people who left you at that house with those people._

_To begin, I would like to tell you a little about your parents, since from what I have heard, your relatives have not told you the truth._

_Your parents were James and Lily Potter. You were born Harry James Potter on 31 July 1980. You will be nine on Monday._

Harry thought about that for a moment. His birthday was on 31 July. He'd suspected that it was sometime during the summer, but had never known for sure. He would be nine on Monday. Four days, maybe three if it was after midnight.

_I went to school with James and Lily, but I did not know James personally. I knew Lily casually although we were not friends. I was two years older than she was and we only had one acquaintance in common. Later, after we were finished with school, Lily Potter saved my life. I owe her a life debt along with a debt of gratitude that I am passing on to you._

_When you were fifteen months old, your parents went into hiding because a very evil man was chasing them. Unfortunately, they were betrayed by someone they thought was a friend and on 31 October 1981, they were killed._

_James and Lily Potter did not die in a car crash, they were murdered by a madman._

Harry's mouth gaped open as he read that line a second and then third time. His father was not drunk, they were not killed in a car crash. They were murdered. _Murdered._

Harry's hands started to shake and he dropped the letter when he realised that he was crumpling it in his fists. Tears that he had repressed for years ran down his eyes. He threw himself down on his mattress, burying his face in the ragged baby blanket that he used for a cover and quietly sobbed his heart out.

~~hp~~hp~~hp~~

Harry woke when he heard Aunt Petunia moving about upstairs. Turning his head to the side, he wondered why his eyes felt so gritty and sticky. As he sat up, he saw the letter lying where he had dropped it the night before. He snatched it up and quickly folded it, stuffing it back into the envelope before sliding it under the mattress. He dressed in a semi-clean pair of shorts, took the now dead flashlight, and slipped out of the cupboard.

"You better be starting breakfast, boy!" Aunt Petunia's voice came from upstairs and Harry sighed with relief that she wasn't downstairs yet. He replaced the flashlight in the drawer, making sure that it was in the same spot as before, then splashed some water over his face from the sink faucet. He cupped his hands to take a drink, then dried his face with the edge of his shirt.

Once breakfast was over, Uncle Vernon left for work and Dudley slammed out the door to go to his friends. Harry washed the dishes, and helped Aunt Petunia set up the sitting room for her weekly book club meeting. Then he was shoved back in his cupboard with a piece of bacon, an apple and a glass of water.

"That's all you'll get today if I hear even one sound out of you while my book club is here!" Aunt Petunia declared as she slammed and locked the cupboard door. Thankfully, she allowed him to use the dim overhead bulb, switching it on from the outside.

He lay on his mattress, reading a couple of Dudley's old books until he heard the doorbell ring and Aunt Petunia's "company voice" greeting her guests.

When the voices had disappeared into the sitting room, Harry cautiously pulled out the letter again. He turned so that his back was to the door and the book he was reading was in his lap. Since the door was locked, if someone were going to open it, Harry would have a moment's warning in order to hide the letter again.

He smoothed the pages out again, trying to remove the wrinkles in the paper from when he had…been upset. He looked at the third page again, almost as if expecting something to have changed about it, but it was still completely blank.

His eyes traveled back up to the top of the first page and he began to read again.

_Dear Mister Potter,_

_You do not know my family or me. I have only just found out about you and your living conditions and it is my understanding that you were left with your relatives as a baby and that they did not want you, then or now._

_You may not remember, but two months ago, you were in Muggle London with your aunt._

Harry read the first part without stopping. He remembered again the jealousy he had felt for the other boy and his mother. His heart ached with the thought that this woman might want to help him. When he reached the part about his parents, he stopped on the line that had suddenly changed his life; his whole understanding of the world that he lived in. The world where he was a freak spawned by freak parents who had not loved him any more than his aunt and uncle did, turned suddenly upside down.

_James and Lily Potter did not die in a car crash, they were murdered by a madman._

Harry stopped and took a deep, shaky, breath. There was no way that he was going to be…upset…again.

_Although you were in the room with your mother at the time of her death, you survived. I do not know the details of how you managed to survive, or how you wound up living with your aunt and uncle. Whoever made the decision to place you with them did so with complete secrecy._

_I wish to offer you an alternative to where you are living now. I am in the process of making some major changes in my life so that I can be in a position to take care of you if you agree. _

Wait…she was saying that she would take care of Harry? Was she going to come here and live with him in his cupboard? He didn't think that there would be room.

Harry laughed silently. No, she wouldn't come here. Nobody would want to live here with Harry. Harry was a freak, a nothing, a nobody_._

_I swear that I will care for you as if you were my own son, who you may remember accompanied me that day in Muggle London._

She was swearing to care for him. This was just…weird. His aunt and uncle supposedly "cared" for him and look how that was working out. However…she did say that she would care for him just like her own son and Harry enviously remembered how her long fingers had gently carded through the other boy's hair. How she had listened to him as he talked and took the things he said seriously. Did she mean it like _that_? How could she promise something like that to a boy she hadn't even known existed until a couple of months ago? How could she possibly care for Harry when Harry was a_ freak_?

_I know that you will have difficulty believing me. Your aunt and uncle will have given you no reason to trust anyone. I want to answer any questions you may have, so I have included a blank sheet of parchment with my letter. Write your questions on the parchment, then place the parchment in a safe place in the room where you sleep. I cannot explain how it works yet, but I will answer your questions on the parchment you've written on within a few days._

_Please believe me when I say that I want to help you._

_Sincerely and with great hope,_

_Narcissa Malfoy_

Harry read the letter again, making sure that he understood everything as much as he could. He still had no idea what a Muggle was, and some of the bigger words were difficult to pronounce, but he thought that he got the overall message. This person, _Narcissa Malfoy,_ wanted to help him.

He picked up the blank sheet and stared at it. If he wrote on it, how would she know if he never posted it? It was almost as if she were asking him to believe that the paper was ma…no, not allowed to use that word. Harry was not even going to _think_ that word. Uncle Vernon would surely know and he wouldn't get any food for a week. He'd be lucky to get water.

He pulled one of his schoolbooks from last term out of his book bag and lay the parchment on it so that he would have a surface to write on. He then felt around the bottom of his bag until he produced a pencil that still had some lead.

He sat looking at the parchment for a long time. He had no idea what to write, but knew that if he didn't do something before Aunt Petunia's book club left, he wouldn't get another opportunity until late tonight.

His hand shaking slightly, he started at the very top of the paper.

_Dear Mrs. Malfoy,_

He had no idea if she was married or not, but it seemed a good bet since she had a son.

He paused with the pencil hovering in the air, knowing there was really only one question he truly wanted to ask.

_Why would you want a freak like me?_

_Harry_

He folded the parchment up with the letter, put it back into the envelope and placed it back under the mattress.

~~hp~~hp~~hp~~

There was no answer to his question that night. He sneaked out to the kitchen long after midnight for a drink of water and a piece of cheese, just beginning to turn green on the edges, which he found forgotten in the back corner of the refrigerator. He pulled the green bits off, stuffing them in the waste bin, and then ate the rest. Then he took the letter and stood at the door to the back garden, where the moonlight came in the window. His question, in stark black pencil lead, was easily readable on the page, but there was nothing below it. The parchment remained blank, no matter how he twisted it to catch the light. Saddened, but not surprised, he put the letter away and tried to sleep.

~~hp~~hp~~hp~~

Saturday afternoon, after having spent the morning stripping all the beds-including the guest room that was never used-and putting on clean sheets, dusting and vacuuming the sitting room and mopping the kitchen floor, Harry was once again shut into his cupboard with a jam sandwich and a glass of water, all he would get for the day.

"Come on, Dad!" Dudley's voice whined from the front doorway. "We're going to be late!"

A few minutes later, the car engine started and then silence reigned in the house. Harry tried the door to his cupboard and was happy to find that Aunt Petunia had not locked it. He pushed the door open and crept up to Dudley's second bedroom, hoping to find a couple of books that he hadn't read yet. He was careful not to move too much of the junk, but finally found two nearly new books that Dudley had tossed into the corner, along with a t-shirt that only had one hole in it. With a wide smile, Harry took his new acquisitions down the stairs, hid one of the books and the t-shirt in his cupboard, then sat on the floor in the entry hall where there was plenty of light to read by.

He was a third of the way through the book when he remembered the letter. His head snapped up and his eyes swiveled over to the cupboard, where the door was open a few inches. He didn't for one minute believe that there would actually be an answer to his question, but his fingers itched to go look. _Just in case._

He scooted over to the door of his cupboard without standing, then reached in and pulled the letter out. As he unfolded the third sheet, he saw that nearly half of the page was now covered in writing. He gasped and dropped it to the floor, staring at it with terrified eyes.

After several minutes, when nothing changed, he slowly picked up the letter. Beneath his block printed question and name was the same sweeping script that had covered the other pages.

_Dear Harry,_

"No. No, no, no," Harry panted. This could not be true. He was dreaming. It was night, he was locked in his cupboard and he was dreaming. Harry closed his eyes and pinched himself, but when he opened his eyes again, daylight was streaming in through the windows, and the writing on the parchment was still there.

_Dear Harry,_

_Of all the questions I thought you would ask, this was not one of them. The only answer I have is that you are not a freak. I know that you will not believe me, but it's true. You are a little boy living in a house with people who hate you for no reason. I do not know the things that have happened to you, but they were not your fault._

_My son, Draco, had an accident a few years ago. He made a water glass fly across the room without touching it. He was four. A couple of years later, he made all the doors in one part of our house lock themselves at once and I spent several hours trying to get them unlocked again. He had accidents. They were not his fault and do not make him a freak. Just as you are not a freak._

_The answer to the other part of your question is that I want you because you need to be loved and cared for. While I have made many mistakes in my past, I love my son and would do anything for him. I would like to love you as well._

_Please think about it._

_Narcissa Malfoy_

~~hp~~hp~~hp~~

The sound of the car returning to the house had Harry scrambling to pick up his book and letter, and he had the door to his cupboard closed just as Dudley flew through the front door. He quickly hid everything and sat in the middle of his mattress, waiting.

The door to his cupboard was flung open by Uncle Vernon. "Get out here, boy!" he yelled.

Harry stood and walked out to stand in front of Uncle Vernon. "Yes, sir?" he said, not meeting Uncle Vernon's eyes.

"Get out there and wash the car before it gets dark!" Uncle Vernon slammed the cupboard door closed and stalked into the sitting room. "And it had better be right, or you'll get nothing to eat tonight or tomorrow!" That wasn't a surprise. Harry already knew he wasn't going to have anything to eat tonight and since it was a given that Uncle Vernon would find something wrong with the car, he wouldn't get anything to eat tomorrow either.

Harry left the house. The car sat in the drive looking shiny and clean, the same as it had this morning. With a sigh, Harry turned and lifted the garage door, nearly getting knocked over by it when he couldn't get enough leverage to push it fully open. With a frantic shove, he finally managed it and then pulled the wash bucket out and filled it with soap and water from the hose. With a rag from the work bench, he started at the back of the car, working his way to the front. Then he pulled the stepladder out of the garage so that he could reach the top of the car.

As he was setting up the stepladder, he heard a hiss of noise behind him. He turned to look but no one was there. Shrugging his shoulders, he flung the sopping wet rag up to the top of the car and stood on his tiptoes to try and reach the middle of the top.

"Harry!" A soft voice called to him and he turned so quickly that he nearly fell off the stepladder.

"Who's there?" he asked, trying not to let his voice shake.

"Harry, come to the edge of the lawn. Don't cross over into your neighbor's yard."

Slowly Harry descended from the stepladder and walked to the edge of his uncle's property, right where the immaculate lawn that Harry tended stopped and the neighbor's yellowing and too-tall grass began.

He stopped before his toes crossed the imaginary line and looked left and right. There was no one to be seen. "Where are you?" he asked.

There was a whispered sound and then right in front of him appeared a woman. _Her_. Narcissa Malfoy. He cried out and stumbled back, falling onto his backside.

"What did you do?" he cried out softly, looking over his shoulder in case his uncle or aunt had heard. "How did you do that?"

He got back to his feet and came towards her.

"Stop," she warned, holding a hand out towards him. "Do not leave the wards."

"Wards," Harry asked. "What are 'wards'?"

Mrs. Malfoy dropped her hand and gazed at him long and hard. "You do not know?"

"Know what, Mrs. Malfoy?" Harry said shakily. "What am I supposed to know?"

She pressed her fingertips to her lips. "How can no one have explained?" she said finally. "How could they all leave you in the dark?"

Harry laughed shortly. "Mrs. Malfoy, I've been living in the dark all of my life."

Mrs. Malfoy sighed. "Harry, I know it's too soon. I know you don't trust me yet, but I want…" she stopped.

"Mrs. Malfoy, I have to go back." Harry looked over his shoulder again. "If I don't finish soon, I'll be in big trouble."

She nodded. "I understand. I just want you to know that there are things that I can explain, things you need to know."

"About my parents?" Harry asked eagerly, his insides jumping a little.

"Yes," she said. "And other things. Important things that I suspect no one will tell you until it's too late."

"What do you want me to do?"

"Come with me," Mrs. Malfoy said. "I have a house where it's just me and my son. We want you to live with us."

"What about your son's dad?" Harry asked.

"I've left him," she said sadly. "He was not a…good man. It took me a long time to realise that. Almost too long." The last part was whispered, as if she didn't want Harry to hear.

"Why now?" Harry was getting anxious. Uncle Vernon would be out soon and the consequences wouldn't be pretty.

"When I met you, I discovered that I needed to look at my life, the things that were happening to me and Draco."

"Boy! What are you doing?" Uncle Vernon shouted, the front door flying open.

"Come with me, Harry," Mrs. Malfoy said softly. "I want you to come with me, but you have to choose to do it. Once you step over the wards, you have to know that you're not coming back."

Uncle Vernon was standing on the front step of the house, his face red with rage focused completely on Harry. Before Uncle Vernon could see her, Mrs. Malfoy stepped to the side so that she was partially hidden by the hedges.

"You are not going to get food for a week," Uncle Vernon growled as he started walking towards Harry.

Harry's eyes darted wildly between Uncle Vernon and Mrs. Malfoy. What to choose? Did he choose Uncle Vernon and the hunger, darkness and loneliness of his cupboard, or Mrs. Malfoy and a complete unknown?

Suddenly, he knew what he needed to do. He looked at Mrs. Malfoy and without taking his eyes off her, he stepped over the property line.

**The End**


End file.
